A Better Me
by Kelsey Levine
Summary: She's far from perfect. Detentions every day, lies, pranks, hates school. When she meets the Doctor, everything changes. Every adventure Abigail Tyler - Rose's daughter - goes on, smooths one of her many flaws. She becomes a better person. *A STORY OF TENTOO AND ROSE'S DAUGHTER*
1. Prologue - A Perfect Prank

**Prologue - A Perfect Prank**

_Perfect, _I thought to myself, as I finished off my masterpiece. Hang on, that makes it sound like a painting, and I'm actually **good **at art. Well, pranking is an art. Not exactly the teachers opinion, but mine, and right now, mine is all that matters.

It was early in the morning, the sun had barely risen, and yet I was awake. School would start in a couple of hours. And I couldn't wait to see the reactions of the students and teachers alike.

I know what you're thinking, what would my parents say? Let's just say, they are **not **going to find out. They will have no idea that I sneaked out of the house in the early hours of the morning. Nor will they find out I used their credit card to borrow some sheep from a farmer who lives on the outskirts of London. It's kind of their fault. They need a better pin on their credit card. I also used it to buy some spray paint, bright green in colour.

I should really explain myself. I was currently on the school field, wearing a pair of old jeans and waterproof jacket. The rain beated heavily down onto the grass, causing puddles to form everywhere, and the dirt turn to mud beneath my feet. "Yuck," I muttered as my shoes got soaked. But I wasn't going to go home until I was done.

I felt like a gangster, as I spray painted my 'grafetti' onto the 'canvas'. The number '1' was spray painted onto one of the wooly sheep, '2' onto another, and '4' onto the last one. _The hardwork was complete, now to head home and get ready to see the reactions. _I grinned to myself, feeling a bead of water roll down my forehead.

It was half past six by the time I sneaked back into my room. I removed my wet rain jacket and threw it on the floor, on the dirty pile. _Wait, how would I explain my wet hair to mum and dad? _I thought. Aha! I'll quickly have a shower. Before they wake up. I gathered my school uniform up, which was on the floor. Everything's on the floor. It's what I like to call 'floor filing'. Everything has a place, and there's a place for everything.

Half an hour and a steamy warm shower later, I headed downstairs, refreshed and ready to face the day at school - even if I am looking at getting a detention or two. Thinking about it, I'm yet to go a day without getting a detention. What can I say? I'm a bad girl!

Where's mum and dad? Usually they're here at this time, I wondered as I walked into the kitchen. Usually mum makes me pancakes for breakfast on the last day of school.

A sheet of paper on the kitchen table caught my eye.

_Abigail, _

_your father and I got asked to go to work early today. I'm sorry I can't make you pancakes. Knowing you, you'll be looking for something to eat by now. Don't burn the house down, sweetie. And have a good day at school._

_xx Mum_

'Don't burn the house down'. I reread, frowning a little. When have I ever down that? Oh yes, off course. Yesterday, I burnt a salad, a lettuce salad. That didn't need cooking I later found out. I'll just do toast, can't go wrong with that for breakfast.

If my parents had to go to work early, that explains why they didn't notice me sneaking out earlier. I did make a whole lot of unintentional noise... If they're not around, it means I can have some fun. I would go into the study and wrap everything up in tin foil, but I didn't have time. I actually wanted to go to school for once. Ladies and gentleman, I recommend taking a photo of this once in a lifetime oppurtunity.

I started humming a song as I put the bread in the toaster. Now, Abbie, don't change the settings. They are fine. I hardly want burnt toast for my breakfast.

Now what to do while I wait... I sprinted up the stairs, and gathered my school text books up and threw them into my bag. I wasn't the type who looked after school related things. Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I headed back downstairs. Only to have the familiar smell of burning that comes only when I cook. I dumped my bag near the kitchen and headed over to the toaster. I went to touch the toast, but ended up pulling my hand back in shock - it was piping hot. But even without pulling it out, I could see the discolour. It was black and solid. A what should have been a golden brown crispy slice of toast. That's it. I give up on cooking! I thought as I stormed out, pausing only to get my bag, pull my school shoes on and lock the door behind me.

"Abbie! Have you seen?" A classmate of mine asked me as I walked into school. I think her name is Jessica. I wouldn't know, I never pay attention when at school.

I knew what she was talking about. But I didn't want to get into trouble. "Seen what?" I asked her, faking innocence and confusion.

'Jessica' laughed. "There's sheep on the school grounds! The head master is furious, and the teachers are going insane!"

I tried to keep a straight face, "why are the teachers going insane?"

"Because there's three sheep, each with a number on its side. The teachers are wondering where the other one is. Because number 1,2 and 4 are there. But not 3. I secretly think there is no 3." Jessica whispered.

Smart girl, I thought. "I'm keen to see this," I grinned. Prank was going perfectly. Jessica grabbed my arm and dragged me to the field. A crowd of students were already there, many laughing, some looked frightened. The teachers, however, were trying to keep the sheep in one place.

Ever seen a posh middle aged lady wearing designer clothing and heels try to chase rogue sheep? Well, it wasn't a pretty sight. It was quite hilliarious though.

I nearly choked, when I saw one of the sheep chase after my least favourite teacher, Mr Richards. Bonus. And they don't suspect a thing, I thought as I laughed. Success to one of my many pranks.

But like everything, all good things have to come to an end, and what had been a great morning - part from burning toast - came to a halt, as each laughing student who was watching the events take place got sent off to class. Oh the joy of being at school. Note the sarcasm.


	2. Chapter One - Mundane History

**Chapter 1 - Mundane History**

History. A subject I hate. A subject my parents forced me to take. I mean, what is the point in learning about people who are dead already and events that are stuck in the past?

So there I was, trapped in history class. Fortunately, it's the last period, on a Friday.

"Sir?" I called out.

"Miss Abigail Tyler?" Mr Richards sounded as though he dreaded what I was going to say.

"It's the last period on a Friday. Can we have a fun lesson?" I pleaded.

Mr Richards looked at me for a long time, the class was so silent, you could hear a pin drop if it were to happen. "What do you mean, Miss Tyler? History is always fun," he said, writing some boring shit on the board.

"Uh no." I muttered. "You're just in a bad mood because you were chased by some sheep."

I couldn't hear his next reply over the classes laughter. Oh, this is going to be a boring lesson. It doesn't have to be... I grinned evilly, as I reached into my bag and pulled out a cactus. I don't know what it was doing in there but it's handy for times of desperate need.

Mr Richards was drowning on about some ancient person or something. I couldn't care less. He didn't seem to notice me put a cactus on the spare desk next to me, either.

I put my hand up, waiting for Mr Richards to single me out. "Abigail?" He wearily asked.

"Cactus wants to say something." I said, gesturing to the cactus next to me. I then looked at it expectantly, like I was hoping it would say something. When it didn't, I turned back to the red faced angry teacher and shrugged.

Mr Richards glared at me, looking like he was about to explode, then went back to teaching.

Not my fault. I don't think he likes his job very much, or maybe it's just me he hates? Next plan to add some fun to this class...

The boringness of the lesson made it easier to drift off, I found my mind wandering far away from the cold, bitter reality. The reality being me stuck in school. Jail almost. Not almost, is. School is a prison. Forced to be here day after day, against our will. And the work is like the torture, history class being the torture chamber. You could almost hear the screams of the previous students that had suffered through Mr Richards' lessons.

Anyway, I should really introduce myself before I get too far into the story. My names Abigail Tyler. Abigail Roseanne Tyler, and I'm simply a 17 year old girl who can't wait to get away from school for the entire summer holidays. I wonder if anything fun will happen over the next few months...

"Miss Tyler." The stern voice of my history teacher broke into my thoughts,and brought me back to.. Well prison.

I glanced up at the front of the classroom, and realized now was the perfect time. I quickly got out of my seat and ran to the front of the classroom. I grabbed a whiteboard marker from the teachers desk and walked up to the board.

"What are you doing?" Mr Richards asked me.

I innocently grinned, "playing a game of hang man!" I quickly drew four dashes on the board and wrote in a 'f' on the first one, and a 'k' on the last. Turning to the laughing class, I announced: "guess the word!"

Mr Richards looked at what I had wrote up. F_ _ K. "Abigail, that's a bad word." He told me.

"No it isn't!" I countered back, quickly filling the blank spaces in, with a 'o' and a 'r'. It now read FORK. As I walked back to my seat, I muttered, "you have such a negative outlook on life."

"Miss Tyler, have you listened to a single word I have said in today's class?" Mr Richards asked me.

"Yes." I lied. Very skilfully I must add.

"What did I say?" He inquired. Oh, time to push the boundaries a little. If I haven't already.

"You were talking about the lack of attention I give in class. You should get your head checked out, Mr Richards. I think you suffer short term memory loss," I feigned concern. By now, the entire class were in stitches as each student laughed.

"Before that," he growled, his eyes boring holes in my head.

"Oh, I think you said my name."

"What has this lesson been about?" He tried a different approach.

"The war," I stated confidently. I'm pretty sure I heard him mention the word war sometime during this class. Or was that yesterday's lesson?

"Detention. After school," he said, tearing off a pink detention slip and throwing it on my desk. I sulked for the rest of that lesson. Mentally plotting revenge on the evil teacher.

"Class, over the next week, you are to complete a 2000 word essay on anything past event or person. You can do it on the London blitz, or medieval times. It's due next class." Mr Richards said, just as the bell rang.

I sighed, as I slumped my bag over my shoulder and headed towards detention.

"Mum! Dad! I'm home!" I yelled a couple of hours later as I walk through the wooden door of my families house.

"In the kitchen!" I heard my mothers cockney accent shout back. I made my way towards the kitchen/dining area, dumping my heavy school bag on the stairs as I walked past.

"Abigail Roseanne Tyler." My mother used my whole name. This can't be good.

"Yes?" I said, ever so sweetly. I should have battered my eyelashes, to add to the I'm innocent look...

"It's six o'clock, you were meant to be home two hours ago! Where were you?" She asked me in that I-have-been-worried-sick-and-you-are-in-deep-trouble tone of voice.

"Rose, you sound just like your mother," my dad smirked.

"Where were you, Abbie?" My mother completely ignored my fathers comment which I completely and utterly agree with.

Lie or tell the truth.. "I, uh, went shopping with a friend." I decided to lie. I wasn't going to say, 'oh I had detention.' Yeah that'll go down well. Probably get grounded. Again.

"Why didn't you call?" She sighed.

"I left my phone at home." Another lie. It's actually in my bag, and I simply forgot to call my parents.

"How was school?" My father asked me, breaking the awkward silence

"Boring."

"Any homework?" He asked me.

"Lots unfortunately. I have to complete this worksheet in maths and um, oh, write an essay on some random event or person for history. I was thinking of doing Queen Victoria the sixth..." I mulled over in my mind.

My parents exchanged knowing glances, "Abbie, sweetie, there was only one Queen Victoria."

See this is why I hate history. It's impossible for anyone sane to get their head around. Why is there a King James the Twentieth and not a Queen Victoria the sixth?

"How do you know? Queen Victoria the sixth could've been the only one to survive the zombie apocalypse from five hundred years ago. Therefore making her the only Queen Victoria!" I ranted.

Dad chuckled, "there was no zombie apocalypse five hundred years ago, and Vicky only lived about one hundred and fifty years ago," he explained.

"Vicky?" I raised an eyebrow. "Mum, your husband is giving dead people nicknames!"

Mum laughed in reply.

"Fine, I won't write about Queen Victoria the sixth, and instead I'll write about the zombie apocalypse that happened two hundred years ago."

Mum continued to laugh as my dad face palmed. Probably ashamed to have me for a daughter.

"Why don't you do eighteenth century France?" Mum then suggested.

I frowned. "Why?"

"We've been to eighteenth century France!" My father told me, his pitch descending with each word he said.

"Remember Madame De Pompadour?" Mum laughed.

"And Arthur!" Dad countered back.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. My parents are completely and utterly delusional. Insane. Crazy. They seem to believe that they have traveled in time and space. Seriously, I have heard it all. From the time they met Queen Victoria to the time they met gas masks zombies during the Second World War. My favourite story they have told me is about the time they supposedly went to the year five billion and watched planet earth blow up. I know right. They are mental.

And what's worse is that my grandparents believe those ridiculous stories about time travel.

I walk up the stairs, grabbing my bag on the way past. My bedroom is on the top story, complete with an ensuite and a walk in wardrobe. And a balcony. I know what you're thinking, Abbie has a walk in wardrobe and ensuite when most girls my age don't. Well, my grandfather, Pete Tyler was a rich businessmen. And plus, my parents work for the government or something, they never tell me exactly what it is they do. Perhaps I don't want to know, I mean, it could have something to do with those lame, fantasy stories I've heard oh so many times.

I rip the ugly school uniform off, and throw on a loose knitted sweater,pale blue, and a pair of black leggings. I remove the hair tie from my hair, letting my tangled blonde mess hang loosely around my shoulders.

I walk out of my room, and began to walk downstairs.

"She still doesn't believe us," I heard my mothers voice. They are talking about me. I know they are. Being the curious person I am, I decide to eavesdrop. I listened quietly, standing on the stairs, out of sight from where my parents were in the living room.

"Time travel isn't an easy thing to believe, if you have no evidence," came my fathers reply.

"Do you think we should tell her about..." My mother began.

"..About her being part time lord?" Dad finished her sentence. I frowned, confused at what Dad had said. I mean, what the hell is a time lord?


End file.
